


For His Own Good

by arete214



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Prostate Milking, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:38:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arete214/pseuds/arete214
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt at the Supernatural Kink Community:</p>
<p> Sometime after Sam leaves for college, John decides that the reason Dean is so down is (along with being sad about Sam) he's isolating himself, not getting laid, and getting sexually frustrated. John thinks prostate milking will help, at least until Dean feels well enough to get out and get himself laid.  I'd like Dean to at least be hesitant at first, humiliation. I'd rather John not be made into a monster, instead he just sees this as a sensible option. He loves Dean and wants him to get better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't go at ALL like I thought it would, but i liked the idea of a caring John who really wants to help his son. The first chapter fills the bare bones of the prompt, but the story wanted to continue, so continue it will. :)

John opened the motel room and ushered Dean inside before following him and closing the door behind them. “Hit the shower,” he said quietly as he tossed his duffel on the bed nearest the door.

Dean took a deep breath. “Dad, I …” The look John shot him wasn’t anger, exactly, but it was close enough that Dean knew not to argue. “Yes, sir,” he said. Grabbing his shaving kit and a pair of sweats, he headed for the bathroom.

John waited for the door to close and the shower to start before running a hand through his hair and lowering himself into one of the room’s two chairs. He knew Dean thought he was angry. Truth be told, he’d be happy to _get_ angry if he thought it would help. But he knew it wouldn’t. It hadn’t helped the night Sam had told them he’d received a full ride to Stanford and planned on accepting. John knew anger wasn’t the reason Sam had left but he was pretty sure it was the reason they hadn’t heard from him in the two months he’d been gone. If he wanted to be honest with himself, Sam’s announcement hadn’t come as a complete surprise. He’d known for a long time that Sam wasn’t happy with the hunting lifestyle, that he thought he wanted something different, more normal. It hadn’t been shock or surprise that had caused John to lash out in anger the way he had, to tell Sam not to bother coming back. It had been fear. Fear for Sam’s safety without his family to watch his back, fear that John wouldn’t be able to focus as effectively without knowing that Sam and Dean were together and safe. 

Fear that Dean, who thought of himself as Sam’s protector above all else, wouldn’t know how to function outside that role.

John held no illusions as to who was to blame for that, either. From the time Dean was four years old, John had drummed it into the boy’s head every chance he got. Dean had grown up bearing the responsibility of Sam’s safety and well-being in addition to his own. Once he’d been old enough, in John’s eyes if not legally, John had left him alone with his younger brother, sometimes for weeks on end, leaving one child to raise another. He hadn’t been a good father in a lot of ways, he _knew_ that. But despite what anyone might think, John Winchester loved his sons. 

And a few hours ago, he’d nearly lost one.

Though he knew Dean would claim full responsibility for what had happened, John realized that part of the blame was his. He knew Dean hadn’t been sleeping well since Sam left. He’d become increasingly quiet and closed off, no longer went out at night to shoot pool or play poker. Perhaps even more telling, Dean hadn’t shown any interest in women in the two months Sam had been gone. John knew that most fathers probably wouldn’t know enough about their adult sons’ sex lives to pick up on something like that but John Winchester was far more observant than most fathers. He knew Dean liked women, could even tell when a pretty girl was just Dean’s type. And he sure as Hell didn’t miss the way the women returned that appreciation. Dean had always been a good looking kid and women had been paying him more than his fair share of attention since he was sixteen. Sam used to rib Dean about his apparent inability to ‘keep it in his pants’, but they all recognized it for what it was. In their line of work, stress relief was as important as any weapon in their arsenal and could mean the difference between surviving a hunt and not. Sam had his books, John had his research and Dean had sex.

Or at least he had until the night Sam left. Since then, John hadn’t seen him give a woman a second glance let alone turn on the charm that usually got him exactly what he wanted. John had tried to talk to him about it, or as close to talking as they ever got about such things. He’d suggested, more than once, that Dean maybe go out for a while, shoot a few games of pool, blow off some steam. Dean had insisted he was fine, that he just didn’t feel like going out. He probably didn’t realize that John knew how fitfully he slept at night, how worried he was about his brother, how hurt he was by what he saw as Sam’s abandonment. John had tried to warn him that his focus would suffer if he didn’t get the stress relief he needed but Dean was nothing if not stubborn. John had let it go, hoping he’d work through it on his own.

But that was before he’d seen his eldest son seconds away from being killed or worse by the werewolf they’d been hunting. 

He shuddered as he recalled the incident vividly. Dean hadn’t seen the creature until it was too late and if John hadn’t been there, if his aim had been anything less than perfect, Dean would be dead. Not off at college where John could check up on him, not on a hunt where he could call for help if he needed it. Dead. Gone. Forever. Just like Mary. John knew that, as hard as it had been to lose the woman he loved, losing one of his sons would be infinitely worse.

And that wasn’t going to happen, not if he had anything to say about it.

His thoughts turned to what he _was_ going to say about it. He knew of something that would help, but he also knew he was going to have an uphill battle on his hands when he broached the idea to his stubborn son. The memory of Dean in the werewolf’s path strengthened his resolve, however, and he steeled himself for what he felt he had to do.

When Dean exited the bathroom a short time later, he looked as lost as John had ever seen him. In addition to the sadness he’d already felt because of Sam’s absence and the isolation he’d been keeping himself in, now there was the added knowledge that he’d screwed up on a hunt, that John was probably disappointed in him. John knew he could play to that, but he just didn’t have the heart, not when he knew exactly what it was his son was feeling. He watched Dean in silence for a moment, taking note of the slump of his shoulders, the subdued aura that eclipsed the confident energy that usually emanated from the younger man. Taking a breath, he got to his feet.

“Dean, this has to stop.”

Dean straightened from where he’d been putting things away in his bag. His expression was the neutral mask he’d no doubt been trying for, but his eyes gave away the regret and self-recrimination he was feeling. “I screwed up,” he said dully. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

John shook his head slowly. “We both screwed up,” he said with a sigh. “You shouldn’t be hunting in the shape you’re in and I should have known better.”

Dean frowned at him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Dean,” John said. “You haven’t been fine since Sam left.”

Dean looked down, fiddling with the strap on his duffel, his jaw clenching. “Sam made his choice. Nothing I can do about that.”

“No, but there’s something we can do about the way you’re feeling. You’ve closed yourself off from everyone and anything that used to bring you even the smallest amount of joy. Hell, you don’t even turn on the radio in the car, anymore.” He paused for a moment. “Believe me, Dean, I get it. I’ve been there.”

Dean looked up at him, the frown back. “What do you mean?”

John took a breath and let it out slowly before sitting on the edge of one of the beds and looking up at his son. “It was about a year after your mother died. I’d already begun hunting the thing that killed her but I hadn’t really dealt with my grief or my guilt. I’d dropped you kids off at Pastor Jim’s and was hunting a nest of vampires with Caleb. He trusted me to watch his back and I nearly got him killed.”

“What happened?” Dean asked, sitting down opposite him.

John shook his head slightly. “It’s a long story but the bottom line is, I lost focus and Caleb nearly paid the price for it. He’d been telling me I had to do something but, like you, I was too stubborn to listen.”

Dean smiled wryly as he thought about Caleb. The man might be smaller in stature than both John and Dean but he’d seen him take on monsters and men alike that were twice his size. “Bet he was pissed.”

John snorted. “Like I’d never seen him. We got into a regular knock down, drag out that night and I can admit he kicked my ass.”

“Did that help?” Dean asked. He certainly didn’t relish the idea of getting his ass kicked but if it would work off some of the tension he couldn’t seem to get rid of, it might be worth it.

John shrugged. “It might have for a while but Caleb knew I needed something more than the physical exertion and he took the matter into his own hands at that point.”

“What did he do?” Dean asked with a small frown.

John huffed a short laugh and rubbed the back of his neck like he only did when he was embarrassed or frustrated. Dean wasn’t sure which it was at that point.

“He set up camp not too far from where those vampires had been nesting, treated any injuries that needed immediate attention and then… he tied me up and kept me there for three days.”

“What?” Dean asked, surprised. “Why?”

John shrugged a little. “At first he just let me rant, and believe me, I did. I called him every fucking name in the book but he just sat there writing in his journal like I wasn’t even there.”

“Didn’t that just piss you off more?” Dean asked, knowing his father.

“Damned right it did,” John confirmed. “After a while, I decided I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction and I shut my mouth, wouldn’t say a word except when I had to piss. That lasted the rest of that first day and then, the next morning, Caleb told me he was going to give me just what I needed whether I liked it or not.” He seemed lost in thought for a moment before meeting Dean’s gaze. “He risked losing me as a friend to save my life. Just like I’m going to risk you hating me for the rest of yours.”

Dean swallowed, his gaze searching his father’s. “Dad?” he asked hesitantly. “What did Caleb do?”

John held his gaze for a long moment. “It’s called prostate milking and it…”

“What?” Dean asked, getting to his feet and moving away from the bed. “I mean, I know what it is, but … you? And Caleb? What the Hell?”

“It wasn’t sexual,” John said, his voice firm but even. “It was therapeutic, cathartic.”

“And you _let_ him?” Dean exclaimed. He shook his head in denial. “I don’t fucking believe this.”

“Watch your mouth, boy,” John warned his eyes flashing angrily as he, too, got to his feet. “Caleb’s a good man, a good friend. He may have had to tie me up to do what he did, but I’m not too proud to admit that it helped me. It allowed me to focus on what I had to do and what was important. If he hadn’t stepped in when he did, there’s no doubt in my mind I would have been dead before the year was out.”

Dean gaped at him. “Dad, I …”

“No, Dean,” John said, taking a step closer. “We tried it your way. You told me you’d handle it and I backed off to let you. That was a mistake and tonight it almost got you killed. Now, we do things my way.”

Dean paled considerably and his eyes widened. 

“I know what I’m doing,” John assured him, still using the no-nonsense tone that Dean responded to best. “You can trust in that or we can go see Caleb, your choice.”

Some choice, Dean thought. It was bad enough that his own father thought he needed something like that, he sure as Hell didn’t want Caleb in on the act. “I don’t even want Caleb to know we’re _talking_ about this!” he exclaimed incredulously. 

John nodded once, not at all surprised. “Your call.”

“But that doesn’t mean I want you to …” he couldn’t even _say_ ‘shove your fingers up my ass’ let alone consider letting his dad _do_ it. He shook his head slightly to clear it of the disturbing thought. “I’ll … find someone.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “You are _not_ trusting this to someone you pick up in a bar,” he growled.

“Then, I dunno … a doctor. Doctors do that, I know they do.”

One of John’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline in obvious surprise. “You’d rather have me or Sam stitch you up because doctors ask too many questions. You really want to explain to some doctor you’ve never met what you need and why?”

The very idea only made Dean angrier. “Just because _you_ think I need it doesn’t mean I do.”

“And just because you think you can hunt in your current frame of mind doesn’t mean I have to let you,” John countered, starting to get angry himself.

“ _Let_ me?” Dean repeated in outrage. 

“So help me, I’ll lock you in the fucking trunk if I have to but you are not hunting with me, on your own or with anybody else until this is resolved, do I make myself clear?”

“That’s not fair,” Dean began to argue, “I …”

“You want to talk fair?” John practically growled as he took a step closer. “You think it’s fair that I have to worry about you being killed by the next creature we meet up with all because you’re too proud or stubborn to take help when it’s offered to you? Is that your idea of fair, Dean?”

Dean swallowed hard. “No, sir,” he managed to get out in a rough voice.

“Then make your choice. We take care of this here, tonight, or you sit on the sidelines until you come up with a better plan.”

Dean frantically tried to come up with another option. There was no way in Hell he wanted to consider what his father was suggesting but neither did he want to be sidelined. Hunting was the only thing keeping him going at the moment and while he _knew_ that wasn’t necessarily healthy or sane, he also knew it wouldn’t last forever. He’d get used to Sam being gone, he’d regain his sense of balance and things would get better. 

He also knew his father was done waiting for that to happen. And while he didn’t have to like it, it wouldn’t be the worst thing he’d had to endure in his lifetime. Crossing his arms over his chest, he went for his most defiant look. “You planning on taking a page out of Caleb’s book and tying me up?”

“I’d rather not,” John said evenly. “But I will if I have to.”

Dean didn’t like to be restrained, never had, and he shook his head abruptly before trying a different approach. “Dad,” he beseeched, his tone softer. “I really don’t want to do this.” 

“And I didn’t want to see you seconds away from becoming that werewolf’s next victim,” John said with a hard edge to his voice. “If this can stop that from happening again, we’re damned well going to try it whether you like it or not.” He saw an uncharacteristic flash of fear in his son’s eyes and he hated knowing he’d put it there, but this was for the boy’s own good. “You can lay on your side on the bed, or bend over the sink in the bathroom,” he stated, seeing no point in drawing it out further.

Dean’s gaze flitted toward the bed briefly, though he already knew that wouldn’t be his first choice. Beds were for sleeping or sex, two activities he’d always enjoyed and planned to again. No way was he going to risk linking the memory of what was about to happen to something he considered pleasurable. Without another word, he turned and stalked angrily into the bathroom.

John sighed and grabbed a few things from his bag before following his son into the small room.

Though Dean knew full well what prostate milking was, seeing his father walk into the room with a bottle of lube and a pair of surgical gloves had the reality of the situation hitting home in a way he hadn’t been prepared for. He let his arms drop to his sides and shook his head as he tried to push past the other man. “I’m not doing this,” he said gruffly.

The sudden grasp on his arm had him reacting out of instinct and he whirled, his fist flying before his brain could remind him this was his father he was swinging at. John, however, was well prepared for the move and he ducked the blow easily, using Dean’s own momentum to swing him around until the younger man was facing the sink, his arm twisted painfully behind his back.

“You wanna fight me, boy?” John huffed in his ear.

The words snapped Dean out of his shock and he struggled desperately to get out of the hold even though he knew his efforts were futile. His father had taught him most of what he knew about fighting and John was anticipating every move before he made it. After a few moments, chest heaving with the exertion, Dean had little choice but to admit defeat. Ceasing his struggles, he hung his head in shame.

“You didn’t answer the question,” John reminded him gruffly, hitching Dean’s arm just a little higher on his back until the younger man grimaced.

“No, sir,” Dean hissed through clenched teeth. Realizing John was waiting for more, he added, “I won’t fight you.”

John immediately released his grip and Dean flexed his shoulder, wincing slightly at the pain that lanced up his arm. He knew it wouldn’t last, that he’d done more damage to himself struggling than his father had done. Still, it gave him something else to focus on, if only temporarily.

“Lose the pants and bend over the sink,” John said, his voice having lost the edge of gruffness and sounding more detached and clinical.

Slowly, Dean did as instructed, closing his eyes and hanging his head as he bent over, exposing his naked ass to his father.

John had slipped on the gloves while Dean was undressing but he waited until the younger man was in position before opening the lube and coating his fingers liberally.  
He hesitated briefly before touching his son. “Have you ever … uh…”

“If you’re asking about my sex life, it’s none of your fucking business,” Dean grated. 

John snapped his mouth closed, his lips forming a grim line. “Fine. Just … try to relax as much as you can.”

He shook his head slightly as Dean’s body tensed even more, if that was possible. “Fucking stubborn,” he murmured under his breath.

Placing one hand on Dean’s back, he lowered the other to feel between his son’s ass cheeks until he found the tightly clenched pucker. Slowly, he circled the dusky hole with one slick finger, taking note of the blush that rapidly colored Dean’s face, neck and shoulders.

“I don’t want to hurt you, son,” John said quietly. “Don’t fight me on this.”

Dean was surprised at the almost pleading tone in his father’s voice and his head snapped up before he even realized what he was doing. He knew that was a mistake the moment he caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink. Seeing their reflections, there was no way he could deny what was happening. That was his _father’s_ finger circling his hole, about to push inside. 

_He says jump, you ask how high!_

The memory of Sam’s angry words came out of nowhere and pushed his humiliation level to new heights. It had been after Sam had said he was leaving, after Dad had told him not to bother coming back. Dean, as usual, was trying to smooth things over, telling Sam that Dad hadn’t meant it, that it was his fear and desperation talking. Sam had accused him of always taking Dad’s side, of never having an original thought of his own. 

_He says jump, you ask how high!_

Dean had denied it, of course, and how fucking funny was _that_ , given his current predicament? Maybe Sam was right; maybe he _was_ just Dad’s ‘good little soldier’. Why else would he be standing where he was, his naked ass exposed to his father’s probing fingers?

_He says bend over, you ask how far!_

Dean knew it was his own mind warping Sam’s words in his head and he felt a renewed sense of shame knowing that he was the one who’d pushed his father to this by being too weak to pull himself out of the funk he’d been drowning in over the last couple of months. He’d not only disappointed his dad as a hunter but as a son. He was supposed to be stronger than that. Dad shouldn’t have to resort to such measures so that Dean could function as the hunter he was supposed to be.

“Dean, look at me.” 

The words pulled Dean from his jumbled thoughts and he was surprised to find that he was practically hyperventilating. Unable to disregard a direct order, he allowed his gaze to find his father’s in the mirror. There was concern in his dad’s eyes and it took him a moment to realize that the hand was gone from his ass.

“You need to calm down, son,” John said, his other hand squeezing Dean’s shoulder gently. “I meant it when I said I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After letting it out slowly, he opened his eyes again and met his father’s worried gaze in the mirror. “I know. I’m sorry,” he practically whispered. 

John managed a wry smile. “Don’t be. I’ve been in your shoes, remember? Even tied up I nearly broke Caleb’s nose when he first touched me.” He paused for a moment. “I know there were times you needed me and I wasn’t there. But I’m here now, Dean. Let me help you the way Caleb helped me.”

The words brought unwanted tears to Dean’s eyes and he closed them quickly, hoping his father hadn’t noticed. Not trusting his voice, he nodded once, hanging his head so he wouldn’t have to look at his own reflection.

Not wanting to give Dean a chance to work himself up again, John began where he’d left off, gently stroking over Dean’s hole, the pad of his finger pushing ever so gently against the pucker until it started to yield. Even then, he continued with the same movements and after a few more strokes, the muscle relaxed enough that it practically sucked in the pad of his finger on the next pass. “That’s it,” he soothed. “Relax.”

Dean clenched his eyes closed even tighter, biting his bottom lip as he felt his father’s finger breach his entrance ever so slightly. He still couldn’t believe this was happening.

“That’s it,” John said again as he allowed his finger to sink in to the first knuckle. “You’re doing good, kiddo.” He used his thumb to stroke Dean’s perineum and smiled a little at the gasp Dean tried to hide. “A lot of people don’t realize the prostate can also be stimulated externally,” he said as though explaining a mundane scientific principle. He continued stroking Dean’s perineum while his finger gradually went deeper. Once he was up to the second knuckle, he crooked it slightly toward the area where the hard bundle of nerves waited. As soon as he could feel the prostate beneath his finger, he pushed gently.

“Fuck!” Dean exclaimed in a throaty whisper. Clearing his throat, he added, “Dad, stop, I gotta…”

John nodded in understanding when his son’s words trailed off. “It feels like you have to piss, I know,” he said. “You’re fine, trust me.”

Dean bit his lip again as his dad continued to stroke that spot inside him. Sure, he knew the prostate was supposed to be super sensitive, but he’d never imagined how the direct stimulation would feel. When his cock started to harden, he felt a renewed sense of humiliation. “I don’t …” he gasped, shaking his head slightly. “Dad, I can’t ..”

“It’s OK, son,” John soothed. “It’s supposed to feel good; that’s normal.”

“But I’m not … I don’t …,” Dean whispered hoarsely.

“It’s a physiological response,” John pointed out calmly. “You can’t control it so just let it happen.”

Dean tried to do just that, willing himself to relax and let the sensations wash over him.  
He tried to mentally coax his erection down but it defied him, getting longer and thicker with each stroke of his father’s finger inside his body. If only he could close his eyes and forget, for even a moment, that it was his _father_ eliciting such a response, he’d be able to take his traitorous dick in hand and stroke it into submission.

“You can touch yourself if you want,” John said conversationally as though reading his mind.

Dean clenched his jaw and shook his head slightly. There was no way in Hell he was going to … “Fuck,” he moaned as he felt his father add another finger. That sensation alone felt more amazing than he wanted it to, but when both fingers started massaging his prostate with just the right amount of pressure, his knees nearly buckled.

“Easy,” John said, wrapping his free arm around Dean’s chest to steady him.

“I’m … I’m OK,” Dean assured him once he’d managed to regain some stability.

Once John was sure the words were sincere, he moved his free hand down to Dean’s hip as he concentrated on his task.

It wasn’t long before Dean started feeling overwhelmed. It was like being on the edge of coming, that euphoric, out of control feeling he usually got right before he’d soar triumphantly over the edge. Only this was more intense and not nearly as fleeting. He was riding a crest of unfathomable pleasure but instead of peaking and coming down the other side, he was hopelessly trapped at the apex, the sensations building to a nearly uncomfortable level despite how terrifyingly _good_ it felt.

“Fuck,” he exclaimed breathlessly, his hands grasping the edge of the sink as he fought the urge to touch. “Dad, please, I don’t… I can’t… _please!_ ”

To his embarrassment, he was unable to hold back a startled gasp as his dad’s fingers crooked just so, adding just the right amount of pleasure. He didn’t have time to wonder about John’s arm wrapping around his upper body once again before something inside of him seemed to explode. To his utter mortification, a keening wail erupted from his throat as he started to come. It went on for what seemed like forever, the physical release giving little respite to the intensity of the feelings still pulsing within him. Even once the steady spurting from his cock slowed to a trickle and then nothing, he still felt overwhelmed, his body practically seizing under the onslaught of sensation. “Dad, please,” he practically sobbed.

“Shhh,” John soothed, his fingers easing the pressure on his prostate before stilling completely. “It’s over. I’m just going to pull out.”

Dean couldn’t hide the whimper as the fingers slowly withdrew from his body. He felt empty inside on so many levels he couldn’t even comprehend the fact that his legs had all but given out and only his father’s strong arm was supporting his weight.

“You did good, Dean,” John was saying gently as he held his son, allowing him time to regain his balance. “Just take it easy, now. Breathe, nice and steady.”

Dean tried to do as instructed, his mind glad to have something to focus on that was within his control. After a moment, he felt steady enough to stand on his own. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathed, his voice shaky. 

“You OK?” John asked as he moved his arm from across Dean’s chest but continued to steady him with a hand on his hip.

Dean took a moment to think about that as he calmed his breathing. “Yeah,” he finally said.

John patted his hip in a reassuring gesture. “You should rest now, try to get some sleep. I’ll clean up in here.”

Dean knew he should probably argue that he could clean up his own mess, but he just didn’t have the strength at the moment. “Yeah, OK,” he said as he turned away from the sink. He swayed slightly and John steadied him with an arm around his waist. Dean knew he should complain about that, too, but he had to admit it felt nice to have someone wanting to take care of him for a change.

“I’m proud of you, Dean,” John said as he helped him to the bed and pulled back the covers. “I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

Dean snorted as he closed his eyes, sleep already pulling at the edges of his mind. “Jus’ stood there,” he said, his words slurring slightly.

John chuckled a little at the response. “You trusted me enough to help you and I know how hard that can be.”

The response he received was a soft snore and he grinned, shaking his head in amusement as he pulled the covers up to cover Dean’s body. It struck him then how long it had been since he’d actually tucked one of his boys into bed and he had to swallow around the lump in his throat. Smiling fondly at the sleeping face of his firstborn, he allowed himself a moment to indulge in the sight before quietly heading back to the bathroom to clean up.

End of Chapter One


	2. Chapter 2

When Dean woke up the next morning, it didn’t take long to know he was alone in the motel room. The pleasant feeling he’d had from a good night’s sleep faded as the implications of the otherwise empty room sank in. He wasn’t really surprised his dad had left and he couldn’t really blame him if he wanted to be honest. The werewolf hunt was done and John Winchester was perfectly capable of handling whatever came next on his own. No doubt it would be a Hell of a lot easier without Dean in tow. He knew he’d been off his game recently and he was no good to his dad if he couldn’t watch his own back let alone his father’s.

With a sigh, he threw back the covers and got out of bed, making his way to the bathroom. Maybe a nice hot shower would cleanse the memory of what had happened the night before and he’d be able to focus on what he was going to do next.

When he exited the bathroom half an hour later, he had a towel over his head, drying his hair. The sound of the door opening had him reaching for the nightstand and the gun he knew was there before he caught sight of his dad entering the room with a tray of coffee and a brown paper bag. He stared at the older man in surprise for a moment before finding his voice. “Hey,” he said, trying for casual.

John hadn’t missed the initial look of surprise on Dean’s face and his own good mood lessened somewhat. “You didn’t think I’d be back,” he said quietly, turning to put the bag and the coffee on the small table.

“I… uh…” Dean grimaced. He hadn’t missed the look of disappointment on his dad’s face and he wondered why he couldn’t seem to do anything right lately.

“I brought breakfast,” John said, indicating the bag. “You should eat.”

Dean pulled on a t-shirt as he made his way toward the table. “I thought maybe you’d found another hunt,” he said, trying to make it sound like it wouldn’t have been a big deal if his dad actually _had_ left.

John cocked an eyebrow at him. “And that I’d just left you here with no car, no money and no explanation?” He shook his head wearily. “Jesus, Dean, do you really think so little of me?”

Dean had been taking breakfast burritos out of the bag when John’s words registered. “What?” he said, looking up at his father in alarm. “No! I just ... wasn’t sure where you were, that’s all.”

John nodded but didn’t say anything as he took a seat at the table and reached for his coffee and one of the burritos. While unwrapping it, he cast a calculating look at his son. “How do you feel?”

Dean shrugged a little as he sat down and began unwrapping his own breakfast. “Ok, I guess.”

They ate in silence and once John was done, he cleared his throat. “I think we should talk,” he said. 

There was an underlying tone of uncertainty that Dean didn’t often hear in his father’s voice and he looked at him with a wary frown. “About ...?”

“Let’s start with why you thought I’d leave you here without so much as a word,” John replied. 

Dean winced a little though his father’s tone didn’t sound angry at all. “I didn’t. I mean, maybe I did, at first, but I just woke up and I wasn’t really thinking straight. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean anything by it.”

John sighed in frustration. “I don’t want you to apologize, Dean; I want you to tell me what’s going on in that stubborn head of yours. For once, don’t worry about what you think I want to hear, just … be honest. Man to man, did you or did you not think I’d left?”

“All right,” Dean said, allowing his own frustration out. “I thought you left, is that what you want to hear?”

“Because you thought I’d found another hunt?” John pressed.

“Because you didn’t want to _stay_ ,” Dean practically yelled, getting to his feet and pacing a few steps before turning back to face his father angrily. “And why should you? I could have gotten us _both_ killed yesterday! You can’t hunt with someone you can’t trust, I know that. So the real question is, why the hell are you still here?”

Though John was a little surprised at the outburst, he saw it as a good sign. “Because you’re my son and I don’t want you to have to deal with this on your own.”

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me?” Dean barked, outraged. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve had to deal with on my own over the years? This isn’t even a fucking blip on the radar!”

John nodded slowly as he got to his feet. “You had a lot of responsibility growing up,” he conceded. “More than a kid should have.”

Dean shook his head wearily, all the fight going out of him. “That’s not … I’m not blaming you for any of that. You were hunting the thing that killed Mom. I get it. And I was fine with the responsibility because it felt like I was helping.” He drew a ragged breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he admitted. “I meant it when I said I don’t blame you. Things weren’t always easy but I know you did the best you could.”

John studied the younger man for a moment. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d seen Dean angry or even angry at him, for that matter. But the way he went from anger to despondence and back at the drop of a hat was testament to how unsettled he was feeling. “So did you,” he finally said quietly.

Dean frowned. “I was a kid; I did what I was told.”

“And the more you proved you could handle it, the more I piled on you,” John said. “You’re right, you were just a kid, but you did the best you could with a bad situation, better than _I_ was doing sometimes.” He paused for a second. “Sam’s wanting to leave wasn’t your fault, Dean.”

“I never said it was,” Dean shot back defensively.

It was obvious to John that Dean wasn’t yet ready to deal with what had been eating away at him for the last couple of months. There was still too much turmoil in the boy’s mind to effectively sort out what he was feeling and why. “Ok,” he said with a single nod of his head. “I’m glad we got that settled.”

From the way Dean’s jaw clenched, it was clear he’d been looking for more of a fight but John didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he kept his voice casual as he gathered up the remnants of the meal to throw in the trash. “After your milking, you’ll want to rest for a bit but I thought maybe we could go out for some target practice this afternoon.”

Dean gaped at him. “After…” he sputtered. “I thought that was a one-shot deal!”

John turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “You thought Caleb milked me once and then just kept me tied up for two more days because he liked what it did for my disposition?”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times but he couldn’t come up with a suitable reply to that.

“It takes a few times to get rid of all the built up toxins and shit,” John explained. “I know it sounds like bullshit and I told Caleb as much but I had to admit, when it was all over, I felt more like myself.” He held Dean’s gaze as he added, “I know you don’t like it but it’s for your own good.”

Though Dean still felt out of sorts, he couldn’t deny that he’d slept better than he had in a long time and he really did feel a bit better than he had the day before. “Fine,” he said flatly before turning away and walking resolutely into the bathroom.

When John entered a few seconds later, he stood in the doorway, eyeing Dean’s reflection in the mirror. “You going to take another swing at me?” he asked, only half joking. 

Dean sighed and shook his head before dropping his pants and boxers and kicking them aside. “Let’s just get this over with,” he said tightly.

John pulled on the gloves and lubed his fingers while Dean positioned himself over the sink. “You know, just because it’s good for you doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it,” he said casually. “Just picture a pretty girl in my place.”

Dean sucked in a startled breath as John’s fingers touched his hole and started to circle gently, just as they had the night before. “A pretty girl with big-ass paws? I doubt it,” he said, trying in vain to alleviate some of the humiliation he still felt.

John chuckled. “Fair enough,” he said. He rubbed his free hand up and down Dean’s back. “Just try to relax.”

Dean tried to follow his father’s instructions but the knowledge that the circling fingers would soon be inside him didn’t lend itself to relaxation no matter how good it might feel. The fact that he now knew it _would_ feel good only made him more tense.

“Try to sync your breathing with mine,” John suggested as he felt the muscles in Dean’s back tighten. “In… out… in… out.”

“I know how to breathe,” Dean snapped, keeping his head down so he didn’t have to see his father’s reflection in the mirror.

“That’s it,” John said a moment later as the tight pucker began to relax under his gentle stroking. “Just concentrate on what you’re feeling and don’t think about anything else.”

Dean was about to point out that it would be easier to do that if his father would stop talking when the tip of one finger breached his body and he had to clamp his mouth shut to stifle a gasp. 

John must have gotten the message anyway because he didn’t say another word for a while and Dean was better able to concentrate on the feelings inside of him. Every nerve ending in his ass had come to attention at the first sign of penetration, no doubt in anticipation of what was still to come. As soon as the finger found his prostate, Dean’s cock decided to get in on the action and instantly began to harden.

The rhythmic stroking over the sensitive bundle of nerves felt so fucking good that Dean’s hand was halfway to his cock before the reality of the situation slammed back and he jerked, gripping the sink tightly.

“Like I said, it’s OK to touch,” John encouraged, his voice low and soothing. “Fighting with yourself not to is counterproductive.”

Dean shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself,” John replied amiably.

Dean closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sensations building within him. Knowing what to expect, he didn’t feel nearly as overwhelmed as he had the night before but it was still far more intense than anything he was used to. He had to consciously hold back the whimper that threatened to escape as another finger joined the first and began stroking in just the right spot. He felt like he was losing his mind, like he wanted to scream at his father to stop and beg him not to at the same time. Even knowing what was to come, there was no way to wholly prepare himself as the waves of sensation crashed over him, closer and closer together until he feared he’d be swallowed whole, forever lost in the tortuous battle between letting go and holding on for dear life.

“Dad,” he croaked when he didn’t think he could take anymore. “Please.”

“Just a little longer,” John assured him, stroking his hip with his free hand. “You can do it, son. Just hold on a little longer.”

Dean didn’t even bother trying to hold back the whimper that escaped as the intensity kept climbing. Black spots danced behind his closed eyes and he panicked for a second, sure he was going to pass out. He opened his mouth to voice his fears just as the fingers inside him pressed a little harder. Rather than the words he’d been expecting to utter, all that escaped his throat was a cry that was half surprise, half relief. His cock erupted with thick ropes of come and he felt like he was flying apart, like he’d never be able to find all the pieces. An image of Humpty Dumpty leapt unbidden to his mind and resulted in a strangled bark of laughter that sounded more like a sob to his ears.

“It’s OK,” John soothed, his free arm wrapped around Dean’s waist to steady him, even as his fingers kept moving inside Dean’s body.

“No more,” Dean begged, his voice not much more than a hoarse whisper.

“Shhh,” John murmured, slowing his movements once Dean’s cock stopped erupting. “Almost done.”

Dean clenched his jaw, trying to endure. Every nerve ending in his body sizzled and the continued stimulation to his prostate seemed to be lighting his insides aflame. What seemed like an eternity later but was probably only seconds, Johns fingers stilled and slowly withdrew. 

Dean felt like he was floating and falling at the same time. He had a death grip on the sink but his legs felt like rubber and he was grateful for the strong arm that steadied him. The way his head was spinning, he thought there was still a possibility he could pass out and he tried to regain control of his body, not wanting to add to his embarrassment by losing consciousness.

Once his mind cleared a little, he was aware that John had ditched the glove and the hand that had been in his ass only moments ago was now rubbing soothing circles on his back while his Dad’s other arm still held him securely. “Jesus,” he breathed.

“Yeah, I remember,” John said with a slight chuckle before loosening his grip but not relinquishing it entirely. “You OK?”

Dean tested the strength in his legs before nodding. “Yeah.”

John didn’t even bother telling Dean he needed to rest, he just helped him back to the bed and covered him up. 

Dean didn’t succumb immediately the way he had the night before, probably due to the fact that he’d just had the most restful night’s sleep he’d had in a while, but he felt drained and welcomed the idea of a nap. “Dad?” he called softly when John had turned back toward the bathroom.

John turned once again to face him. “Yeah?”

“I don’t …” Dean swallowed nervously as he tried to voice the words. “You said you’d risk me hating you for the rest of my life.” He paused a moment until the flicker of remembrance showed in his father’s eyes. “I don’t. Ok?” Dean could feel himself blushing. They just didn’t talk about shit like this but it seemed important in light of everything that had happened in the last couple of days.

The look on John’s face in response was the one Dean had looked for his whole life, the one that said ‘I love you’, ‘I’m proud of you’ and Dean felt a lump forming in his throat.

“Yeah,” John replied, his own voice thick with emotions they didn’t normally share out loud. “Yeah, Ok. Get some rest.”

When Dean closed his eyes, there was no blocking out the small smile on his dad’s face and Dean felt his own lips mimicking it as he drifted off to sleep.

~*~

True to John’s word, they went out that afternoon, stopping for lunch at a nearby diner before heading for a remote location outside of town that would afford them the privacy they’d need for target practice.

While Dean was setting up targets at varying distances and angles, John got the weapons from the trunk. After nodding approvingly at Dean’s setup, John handed him his favorite gun. “All right, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Dean rolled his eyes but took the weapon, taking a deep breath before aiming at the first target and firing, then continuing on until he needed to stop and reload. “You were wrong,” he said quietly as he loaded and checked the weapon. “It was my fault.” Without giving John a chance to reply, he began shooting again.

When he was once again empty, he concentrated on the task of reloading, fully expecting his dad to say something, but not necessarily wanting to see the look on his face while he did.

“You think Sam left because of you?” John asked evenly.

Dean shrugged, still not looking at his father. “Not because of _me_ exactly, but …”

“But?” John prodded when Dean paused.

Dean sighed. “I pushed him in the wrong direction,” he admitted as though confessing a cardinal sin. “When you were away, you always told me to make sure Sammy kept up his training. And I did,” he hurried to add. “I made sure he knew what he needed to know, but … but I wasn’t as hard on him as you would have been. If he wanted to study for a test instead of running laps, I let him. If he wanted to go to a friend’s house instead of the target range, I let him do that, too.” He looked at his father for the first time since starting the conversation. “I never let him slide on the important stuff, though, I swear. I just …” He looked out at the targets with another sigh. “He always said he wanted a normal life and I wanted to give him that as much as I could.” He huffed a wry laugh. “Then when he does something normal like going to college, I get all … whatever,” he said, shaking his head.

John was silent for a moment. “You think any of that comes as a surprise?” he asked, with a chuckle of his own. “Sam didn’t get a full scholarship to Stanford without studying, even I know that. And he never had much of a chance to do that when I was around so I knew he was doing most of it when I wasn’t. It made me feel like a shitty father in some ways but…”

“But?” Dean said, imitating what his father had done a couple of minutes earlier.

John stared out at the targets for a moment before turning to face his son. “But at the same time, I was glad that he had you for a brother. You let him be a kid and despite my … obsession at times, you gave him the opportunity to figure out what he wanted in life. You didn’t _push_ him in one direction or the other, you gave him the chance to decide for himself.” 

Dean had _not_ been expecting that. He’d expected ‘but I was doing what had to be done’ or ‘but I did what was best for you boys’.

His surprise must have shown on his face because his dad smirked. “What? Did you honestly think I had my head so far up my ass that I didn’t know what was going on around me?”

“Yeah,” Dean said without thinking. “I mean, no! I…”

“The anger will eat away at you if you don’t find a way to deal with it,” John told him. “Believe me, I know. But you can’t do that until you admit why it’s there and who it’s directed at. Yourself for pushing Sam in the wrong direction? Me for bringing you up in the life he wanted to get away from?” He paused for a second. “Or Sam for getting all the choices and chances you never really had.”

Dean frowned and looked away but he didn’t respond verbally.

“I haven’t doused you with Holy Water in a while, but last time I checked you were still human,” John intoned. “There’s not always a rational reason for how we feel but that doesn’t stop us from feeling it.”

Dean seemed to think about that for a moment. “It’s not that he got the chance,” he finally said. “I’m glad he did. It’s just …” He shrugged. “I dunno.”

John had overheard enough of the argument between Dean and Sam that he was pretty sure he knew which piece of the puzzle Dean was missing but he also knew Dean had to come to that realization on his own. When it became evident that Dean wasn’t going to say anything else, John turned his attention back to the targets. “Want to keep shooting?”

“Not really,” Dean admitted.

John nodded once before heading out to gather up the targets, Dean following behind, his thoughts obviously on everything that had been said between them.

~*~

The drive back to town began in silence but halfway through the trip, Dean broached the subject uppermost in his mind. “Sam leaving isn’t the same as what you were going through back then.”

“The circumstances are different,” John agreed, “but just like you, I had a lot of anger I wasn’t dealing with.”

“Your whole life was turned upside down,” Dean said. “Who wouldn’t be pissed?”

John was shaking his head slowly. “That’s what I kept telling myself, and Caleb, for that matter. But it wasn’t just the thing that killed your mom. I was pissed as hell at whatever was in the room that night but I was also angry at myself for not protecting my family.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dean said without hesitation.

John shot him a sideways glance. “It wasn’t your mom’s fault either, but that didn’t stop me from being pissed at her for leaving me to raise two boys alone.”

“That’s…” Dean wasn’t even sure what to say.

“Fucked up?” John supplied wryly. “Yeah. But apparently it’s also part of the process. Didn’t stop me from feeling like an asshole about it, though. At the time, I would have denied feeling that way with my dying breath, but it was Caleb who made me realize I’d never be able to deal with it until I admitted it, at least to myself.”

“But Sam’s not … I mean, he’s fine. Nothing happened to him, he’s doing what he wants to be doing,” Dean pointed out. “It’s not the same thing.”

“No, it’s not,” John agreed. “But in some ways, your life’s been turned upside down, too. For twenty years, you felt like it was your job to look after your brother. It’s only natural that you’d struggle a little when you lose that.” He glanced at his son. “And it’s OK to be pissed if that’s how you feel.”

“I … I don’t know,” Dean said, realizing for the first time that he really _didn’t_ know how he felt.

John nodded. “That’s OK, too. What Caleb did for me cleared my head and let me sort out everything without unnecessarily putting lives at risk, including yours and your brother’s. It didn’t fix anything on its own but it let me regain enough control over my emotions that they weren’t dictating every move I made.”

It didn’t take much effort to draw the parallel there. In light of everything his dad had said, Dean could admit that he was struggling, but it was just an adjustment period. He wasn’t used to not having a younger brother around to look out for, but he’d _get_ used to it. It was just a matter of time. And despite what his father seemed to think, he wasn’t mad at Sammy for going off to school. He wanted his little brother to be happy, he really did. Dean just didn’t get how Sam could possibly be happier without his family. Even if Dean had been granted every opportunity in the world, he didn’t think he’d be able to walk away from his family the way Sam had. What did that say about Sam? Better yet, what did that say about _him_. He was still mulling that thought over in his head when the car came to a stop in the motel parking lot.

Once inside the room, John took off his jacket and threw it on one of the beds as he glanced at his watch. “We should do a milking now and then go grab a bite later, maybe even a couple of drinks.”

Dean bristled at the suggestion. “How long do you plan on doing this?” he asked tightly.

John studied him for a moment. “That depends on how long it takes for you to sort things out.”

“Fine. You want to know how I’m feeling? You’re right. I’m pissed. At you for thinking this shit is going to help, at Caleb for putting the fucking idea in your head in the first place, at myself for letting you convince me to go along with it, at Sam for …” He snapped his mouth closed, his jaw clenching so tightly it hurt.

“For what?” John pressed.

“I don’t fucking know, OK?” Dean shouted. “Sam didn’t do anything wrong and I don’t _know_ why I’m fucking pissed at him but what I _do_ know is, shoving your fingers up my ass isn’t going to change that!”

John didn’t say anything, he just cocked an eyebrow in a way that seemed both patronizing and challenging all at once. 

The gesture only served to infuriate Dean further and he wanted nothing more than to punch that fucking look off his father’s face. He’d already taken a step forward before he realized how foreign the urge was. It wasn’t that he’d never been angry at his dad before, but he’d never experienced such an overwhelming desire to kick the shit out of him. His eyes widened slightly as he stopped in his tracks, unsure if he was more unsettled by the idea of physically attacking his father or by the fact that it had come to him so readily and over something so trivial as his father saying something he didn't want to hear. 

They stood like that for a moment, father and son facing off before John nodded toward the door behind Dean. “Bathroom,” he said, his tone quiet but firm.

After only a brief hesitation, Dean turned and headed for the small room. He knew he was acting irrationally but that didn’t quell the anger he currently felt. How could his dad expect him to talk about his feelings when he’d as much as admitted that he wasn’t any better at that shit? He was starting to wonder if the whole prostate thing was really meant to help or whether it was a punishment for not caving and spilling his guts. By the time John walked into the bathroom a moment later, he had all but convinced himself it was the latter.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared defiantly at his father. “Is this some sort of punishment?” he asked, his tone accusing. “I don’t say what you want to hear so you think you can humiliate me into submission?”

John’s jaw clenched. “If it makes you feel better to believe that, fine, but that’s not what this is about.”

“No?” Dean challenged. “So if I walk out that door, you’re not going to tell me not to bother coming back?” He regretted the words as soon as he saw the pain that flashed through his dad’s eyes, but John was speaking before Dean had a chance to say anything else.

“If you want to walk out that door, I won’t stop you,” John said, his voice low. “Maybe I was a fool to think I could help you, to think you’d even _want_ me to. Maybe you wanted that werewolf to take you out, is that it? Then you wouldn’t have to deal with any of this shit. If that’s your end game, you tell me now, boy.”

Dean stared at him in shock for a minute. “You … you think I have a _death_ wish?”

“Do you?” John asked point blank.

“Of course not!” 

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Whether it was relief or frustration, Dean wasn’t sure but he thought it was probably both.

“I’m not trying to punish you, Dean,” John said wearily. “And I shouldn’t have threatened you into going along with it but it was a sensible option and I didn’t think you were in any frame of mind to see that.” He paused for a moment. “But you’re not a kid anymore and you have the right to make your own choices. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

In light of the words and the sincerity in his father’s voice, Dean felt like an ass for acting like such a petulant child. “You were probably right about my frame of mind,” he said with a wince. “I never should have let that werewolf get the jump on me.”

John managed a small smile. “And I shouldn’t have let that vampire get the jump on Caleb.” He shrugged. “Shit happens. What matters is how we deal with it when it does.”

“In my case, not very well, I guess,” Dean said with a grimace.

John chuckled. “What can I say? You’re my son. Doing things the easy way just isn’t in your genes, kiddo.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

John nodded once before sobering somewhat. “What happens from here is up to you.”

“I could really use that drink you mentioned earlier,” Dean said hopefully.

John grinned. “Yeah, me too. Come on.”

End of Chapter Two


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long but it didn't go as planned. I rewrote it so many times that I was no longer sure what worked and what didn't. When the dust settled, this was the ending I liked best. :)
> 
> I need to offer a HUGE thank you to my friend Mayalaen, who is not only the OP of the prompt, but the one who listened to all of ramblings and gave me some very honest and invaluable feedback. Thank You!!
> 
> There will be a sequel to this. An entire story popped into my head, but, while the characters are the same, the events didn't really fit into the context of this particular story. I'm not sure when it will be done, exactly, but I'll probably wait until it's nearly complete before I start to post so that I don't leave you hanging as long as I have with this one. Stay tuned! :)

They entered the dimly-lit bar and looked around briefly before choosing a small table and ordering two beers.

“It’s been a while since we just went out for drinks without some sort of ulterior motive,” Dean pointed out, looking around casually.

John nodded. “We’re either working a hunt, celebrating a success or drowning our sorrows.”

Dean grinned. “Remember that bar outside of Boise?”

John grimaced distastefully. “I wish I could forget.”

Dean laughed. “We thought we were looking for a Djinn and you were cursing your luck because this gorgeous woman was coming on to you when you were on a hunt and didn’t have the time to do anything about it.”

“I still don’t know how I missed that it was a succubus we were after and not a Djinn,” John said. He nodded at the waitress when she brought their beers.

“By the time Sammy and I figured it out, you were already enthralled,” Dean reminisced before taking a long pull from the bottle.

John chuckled. “You knew better than to approach a man who was already under her spell so you sent Sam over.”

Dean shrugged, though amusement danced in his eyes. “He was being a pissy bitch about some school thing.”

John cocked an eyebrow. “You’re lucky I recognized him before I laid him out flat.”

“Nah,” Dean said with confidence. “I knew you weren’t that far gone. Besides, he would have deserved it. He should have known better, too.”

They spent some time pleasantly talking about past hunts and good times. John was glad to see his son in such a pleasant mood and he didn’t miss the way Dean’s gaze would flit occasionally toward the pool tables and the men playing there.

“Feel like a game?” John asked, nodding toward the empty table.

Dean thought about it for a second. “Maybe I should practice a little,” he said with a wink. “We both know I suck at pool.”

John chuckled and looked over at the three men playing at the other table. “Go for it,” he said good-naturedly.

Dean drained the beer left in his bottle and got to his feet, casually sauntering over to grab a cue before approaching the empty table. 

John watched for a while and had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at times as Dean set up difficult shots only to miss them intentionally. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see one of the men at the other table elbow his buddy before they both turned to watch Dean for a minute.

Dean knew they were watching, too, but he didn’t let on, cursing just loud enough for the nearby table to hear as he missed a shot.

“You know,” one of the guys drawled. “If you relax your right shoulder a bit, you’ll get a much smoother shot.”

Dean looked up to see the guy standing close, a friendly smile on his face. “Thanks,” he said, returning the smile. “I’ll try that.” He bent over the table, made a show of consciously trying to relax his shoulder and took the shot, beaming triumphantly when his target disappeared into the corner pocket. Straightening, he nodded at the other man. “Yeah, that made a big difference.”

“No problem. Care for a game? You might find it easier to practice against an opponent.”

Dean seemed to debate that for a second before shrugging. “Sure, why not?”

“We only play for money in this bar,” one of the other guys called over, a smirk on his face. “You sure you can afford it?”

Dean frowned a little and looked from one guy to the other. “I… uh...” He reached reluctantly into his pocket and pulled out a few bills. “I’ve only got about a hundred bucks here. Is that enough?”

The ‘friendly’ guy who’d offered to help grinned triumphantly. “That’s sounds about right,” he said, nodding and taking out a hundred of his own to lay on the corner of the table. “Winner takes all.”

Dean nodded reluctantly and put his money down on top of it. “Ok. I guess if I learn something it’ll be worth it.”

Hiding his grin behind the beer bottle, John sat back to watch.

A short time later, Dean straightened from the table after sinking the last ball. “Would you look at that,” he said with a grin. “Winner takes all, right?” He reached for the money only to have one of the men grab his wrist. Dean looked up at him, one eyebrow climbing slowly. “Problem?”

“You hustled us,” the man who’d been playing Dean accused.

Dean easily wrenched his wrist from the other man’s grasp. “Hey pal, I was minding my own business. You were the one who approached me, remember?”

“You wanted us to believe you couldn’t play,” one of the others said. “The whole time, you were playing us for fools.”

“I don’t give a shit one way or another what you believe,” Dean said with a smirk. “As for the fools part, that ship sailed long before I walked in.”

He reached for the money again, but the biggest of the three stepped close, placing his pool cue across Dean’s chest.

“Trouble here, Dean?” John’s voice asked from a spot only a few feet behind his son.

“Who’s this?” the first guy asked. “Your _boyfriend_ , pretty boy?”

“He’s my father, asshole,” Dean countered.

“Even better,” one of the others said with a laugh. “He needs his daddy to fight his battles for him.”

“I don’t know about that,” John said as he stepped into Dean’s field of vision to lean casually against the bar. “I like to think I taught my sons to fight their own battles.”

“Is that right?” The big guy challenged. “Even when it’s three to one?”

John looked at the three of them and shrugged. “I’m always saying, if you can get into trouble by yourself, you can get out of it by yourself. Isn’t that right, Dean?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Dean said.

One of the men looked from Dean to John and back again as a grin slowly spread across his face. “Hear that, pretty boy? Even your daddy wants to see you get your ass kicked.”

John chuckled low in his throat. “There’s nothing I enjoy more than watching a well-deserved ass-kicking.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but his lips couldn’t help twitching slightly in amusement.

“You’re no match for the three of us, hustler,” the guy who’d played against Dean pointed out. “If you leave now, nobody has to get hurt.”

“Without my money, you mean,” Dean said with a small frown as though he was considering it.

“Without _my_ money, I mean,” the guy said.

Dean shook his head. “Yeah, not gonna happen.”

The guy who hadn’t said much was the first to take a swing and Dean ducked it easily before delivering a well-placed uppercut to the man’s chin. Turning, he grabbed the pool cue the big guy was swinging at his head and, using the man’s own momentum, he flipped him onto the floor on his back. For good measure, he jabbed the thick end of the cue into the guy’s stomach and grinned at the loud ‘oof’ it earned him. 

Before he had a chance to turn, a pool cue cracked him across the shoulder blades and Dean stumbled into the table with a soft curse before grabbing the cue ball and whirling to smash the guy in the face with it. Blood gushed from the man’s nose as he went down, but Dean hardly noticed, turning to look for the third guy. He didn’t duck in time to miss a glancing blow above his eye, but from there it was easy to defend himself against the man’s less than impressive fighting skills. He tired of the fight after a few minutes and easily put the guy down with a feigned left followed by a hard right hook. By then, the big guy was on his feet again and Dean grabbed him and slammed his face into the pool table before letting go and watching him slither to the floor in a heap. Dean looked at each of his opponents in turn before he was satisfied that they wouldn’t be getting up again in the next minute or two. 

When he turned to grab the money, the spot where it had been sitting was empty. “Sonovabitch!” he exclaimed. He looked up at his dad and saw John grinning at him, waving the two hundred dollars. Rolling his eyes, he walked toward his father and took the money offered.

“Feel better?” John asked in obvious amusement.

“Yeah,” Dean said, looking back at the three men on the floor. “I think I’m good.” On their way to the door, Dean stopped in front of their waitress and dropped some money onto her tray. “Thank you, darlin’,” he said with a wink before following his dad out of the bar.

As they walked back to the motel, Dean rolled his shoulders, knowing the blow from the cue was going to leave a bruise. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath.

“You OK?” John asked, shooting him a sideways glance.

“Yeah. You could have warned me about the pool cue, though.”

John shrugged, but he was grinning. “He was swinging before I had the chance. Besides, you handled it. Bet it felt damned good, too.”

“It did, actually,” Dean said with a nod. 

“Maybe I should have tried that a few days ago,” John mused.

Dean thought about that. “A few days ago I probably would have gotten my ass kicked,” he said truthfully.

“Probably,” his dad said with a nod as they reached the motel. He opened the door and ushered Dean inside before closing it behind them. Nodding at one of the chairs, he added, “Have a seat and I’ll get something to clean out that cut above your eye.”

Dean did as instructed, surprised when he touched the area and his fingers came away bloody. “Is that what you had in mind when you suggested we go out?” he asked, though there was no accusation in his tone, only curiosity. 

“Hey, I just wanted a couple of beers,” John said as he returned with the first aid kit. “You were the one who wanted to ‘practice’ your pool.”

Dean smirked. “I think the physical exertion did me good, even if I’ll be feeling it in my shoulders for a day or two.”

John chuckled. “The guy didn’t have enough upper body strength to put much behind the swing. You’ll be fine. Funny thing is, I was going to suggest some hand-to-hand in the morning, give you a chance to get out some of your aggression.” He cleaned the cut with a warm washcloth before reaching for the disinfectant. “Seems you saved me some bruises of my own.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, well, they had it coming.”

Grunting in agreement, John disinfected the cut and then gently probed the area around it. “Doesn’t look too bad. It shouldn’t scar at all, pretty boy,” he teased.

“Fuck off,” Dean said with a huff of amusement as he brushed his dad’s hand away.

John got a small bandage and placed it over the cut before stepping back. “Thankfully, while you were busy with your new friends, I had the foresight to charm the bartender into letting me buy a bottle for takeout,” he said, reaching into his inside pocket and pulling out an unopened bottle of whiskey.

“Awesome,” Dean said, grabbing two glasses from the table beside him and turning them right side up while John opened the bottle.

After pouring them both a shot, he raised his glass in Dean’s direction. “Here’s to focus. Not only did you play one hell of a game, but you took on the three stooges without breaking a sweat.”

Dean smirked and raised his own glass before downing the contents and pouring another. “Does that mean we’re done with the … other,” he said, trying to keep his tone conversational.

“That depends,” John said easily as he held out his glass for Dean to fill before taking the other seat at the table. “Have you figured out what’s going on in that head of yours?”

Dean turned the glass in his hands for a moment, keeping his gaze on the amber liquid. “I did have a chance once,” he finally said quietly.

“A chance to …?” John asked, focusing his attention on his son rather than his own drink.

“Leave,” Dean said, somewhat uncomfortable with the admission. “That boys home I was in for a couple of months, remember?”

John grimaced a little. “Not one of my finer moments, but yeah, I remember.”

Dean looked up at him. “You were trying to teach me a lesson and I learned it,” he said, then shrugged. “I was pissed at you for a while, but later, I was able to admit to myself that it wasn’t all bad. I was actually enjoying some aspects of school and I’d even met this girl.” He smiled softly at the memory before returning to the story. “Sonny was tough but fair. The night you came to get me, he told me I didn’t have to go if I didn’t want to, that he’d tell you himself if that made it easier.”

“Yeah, I kinda got the impression that Sonny wasn’t my biggest fan,” John said, remembering that night.

“I never told you, but part of me really wanted to stay.” Dean tossed back the drink and winced a little at the burn in his throat, whether from the whiskey or the admission, he wasn’t sure. “But I saw Sammy in the car window and I just couldn’t bail on him like that.”

John was nodding slowly. “So it hurt even more when Sammy got the chance and took it without a second thought?”

“Maybe,” Dean said. “The night he told us he was leaving and you guys had that big fight, I tried to talk to him later, maybe trying to convince him to stay, I don’t know. I just didn’t want him to leave like that, with you two at each other’s throats.”

John nodded but didn’t say anything.

“He didn’t get that, though, he just accused me of taking your side, being your good little soldier, never having an original thought of my own.”

“Did he know you’d considered staying with Sonny?” John asked.

Dean shook his head. “I never told anybody that until now.”

“So you weren’t pissed at him for leaving, but for not realizing that you’d sacrificed your own shot at a different life and you did it, in large part, for him,” John concluded.

“Which is both stupid _and_ selfish since the reason he never knew was because I didn’t _want_ him to.”

“Do you regret that choice?” John asked quietly.

Dean had to think about that for a minute and was surprised at the answer when it came. “It might have been nice to think about,” he finally said, “but if I’d stayed, I would have been worried sick about you and Sammy, wondering if you were on a hunt without someone to watch your back, wondering if Sammy was doing good in school. It would have gnawed at me until there was nothing left.” He met his father’s gaze. “Family is more important to me than anything, I know that now. I guess I knew it then, too. And saving people, hunting things – that’s what we do. I just can’t see myself turning my back on that when I know what’s out there. Part of me still wonders how Sam could.”

“Part of Sam probably wonders why you can’t,” John pointed out fairly. “You’re two different people, Dean, and you both need to respect that.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean acquiesced quietly. “It just pisses me off when he accuses me of shit like following orders, especially when…” He let the thought trail off with a small shake of his head.

“Especially when a lot of what you did was in his best interest,” John concluded.

“Does that make me an asshole?” Dean asked, though he already felt like one.

John chuckled. “If it does, then you’re in good company.” He paused a moment. “The night you argued with Sam about leaving. Did it ever occur to you that it might be his way of making it easier?”

Frowning, Dean looked up. “No,” he answered truthfully.

John shrugged as he poured two more drinks. “He looked up to you his whole life. You were always the one there for him when nobody else was, including me at times. Do you really think he just forgot all that the moment he got accepted to Stanford?”

“I … hadn’t really thought about that,” Dean admitted.

“You grew up practically joined at the hip,” John reminded him needlessly. “He knew before he ever left that he was going to miss you and it’s possible he lashed out to make the break less painful for both of you.”

“If that’s true, why wouldn’t he just _say_ that?” Dean demanded, angry at himself for not having looked at things from Sam’s point of view.

John snorted. “Right. Because the men in this family are always so eager to express our feelings.”

Dean scowled in response, but then huffed a small laugh. “Ok, good point.”

They both sipped their drinks for a moment, thinking about all that had been said.

“I’m not sure if it makes sense, but realizing why I was pissed makes me less pissed. At Sam, anyway. Part of it was that I missed him more than I thought I would and that just pissed me off more,” Dean admitted.

“Because you thought it made you weak,” John concluded. “I miss him, too. Does that make me weak?”

“No,” Dean replied. “I never said it was rational, but I’m human, remember?”

John smiled. “You’ll always be brothers, Dean. Nothing’s going to change that. Sam might need some distance right now, if just to prove to himself that he can make his own decisions, but it doesn’t have to be that way forever.”

“But it’ll never be the same as it was,” Dean said a little sadly.

“No, it won’t,” John agreed, shaking his head slightly. “But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” Dean said. 

John watched him for a moment. He was glad that Dean had acknowledged what was bothering him, but he was still antsy, turning the glass around and around in his hands, his right leg bouncing to some tune only Dean could hear. “Is there something else bothering you?” he asked.

Dean met his gaze and frowned a little. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, the Sonny thing was bugging me and I wasn’t anxious to tell you about that, but … now that I have, I don’t know why I still feel so …restless.”

John nodded in understanding. “You’ve got a lot on your mind. Figuring out what’s bugging you is probably the hardest part, but it’s only the first step. You still need to process it all and then deal with it in whatever way works best for you and I won’t lie, that could take some time. Or at least it did for me.”

“Great,” Dean murmured under his breath.

“In the meantime, I’m thinking a milking, Chinese take-out and then we can either watch a movie or start looking for our next hunt. Tomorrow we hit the road.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, looking up with a hopeful expression that he was probably trying to hide.

John grinned and nodded. “Unless, of course, you’ve really grown to like it here in Ellicottville.”

“Hell, no,” Dean said, scrunching up his face. “They can’t even make a decent cheeseburger.”

“Then it’s settled. First thing in the morning, we’re gone.” He raised his glass and downed the contents. 

Dean tossed back what little was left in his own glass before getting up and heading toward the bathroom.

Once there, he stripped off his jeans and boxers, then, as an afterthought, his shirts. He’d left his t-shirt on that morning but had ended up taking it off later anyway because he felt overheated.  
While he waited for his dad, he studied his image in the mirror. There was a faint tinge of pink to his cheeks that he attributed to the knowledge of what they were about to do, but other than that, he looked healthier and less fatigued than he had in a while, even with the small bandage on his forehead. 

“Ok, son, you know the drill,” John said casually as he entered the room.

Dean bent over the sink, feeling his blush deepen at the vulnerable position. His embarrassment wasn’t as bad as it had been the first day and if he wanted to be honest, he sometimes enjoyed a little humiliation with his sex. Not that he’d ever admit that to his father, of course, since this was as far from sex as one could get with someone else’s fingers in his ass.

“Here we go,” John said, pulling him out of his thoughts as a slick finger started circling his hole 

Dean breathed out slowly, willing his body to relax. After a few minutes the thick digit breached his entrance and he clenched his jaw as it pushed slowly inside, not wanting to allow the moan that wanted to escape. When he wasn’t actively trying to deny it, he could admit it felt _really_ good, even though it hadn’t even reached his prostate yet. In anticipation, Dean’s hand wandered to his already hardening cock, grasping it and stroking just the way he liked.

“Yeah,” he breathed, forgetting his resolve to remain silent once his father’s finger pushed gently on his prostate. He tightened his grip on his cock, stroking slowly as the sensations began to gradually build within him. He managed to keep mostly silent after that, but he couldn’t stop the moan that emanated from his throat when the second finger joined the party.

John saw it as a good sign that Dean was touching himself. He knew the boy had been fighting it previously and the fact that he was no longer warring with his impulses indicated he might be feeling more like himself. He watched Dean in the mirror for a few minutes as he worked the younger man’s prostate. Dean’s eyes were closed, long lashes brushing cheeks tinged pink with pleasure. It wasn’t hard to see why he was so popular with the opposite sex. John didn’t miss the way women, and some men, for that matter, looked at his son. He often wondered if Dean realized just how attractive he was. He’d obviously learned, over the years, that he could sometimes use his looks to his advantage, but he didn’t seem overly vain or conceited for all that.

Dean moaned and it brought John out of his musings just in time to see the younger man lick his lips before biting the bottom one. The sight was so fucking erotic that it took John a moment to realize …

“Fuck.”

The whispered curse had Dean’s eyes flying open to search out his father in the mirror. Startled green eyes met brown and John withdrew his hand quickly, his face flushing.

“Dad?” Dean said, turning around in alarm. “What’s wrong?”

John was looking down and shaking his head as he snapped off the latex glove. “Nothing,” he said gruffly. When his gaze flitted up to meet Dean’s briefly, his cheeks reddened even more. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning abruptly to leave.

Dean grabbed his arm, worried that something was horribly wrong – a heart attack maybe. “Dad, stop. What is it?” It was as his eyes were skimming over his father’s body for any indication of what the problem was that he caught sight of the noticeable bulge in John’s jeans. “Oh.”

John’s face got even redder and Dean couldn’t help a small bark of laughter.

John glared. “This isn’t funny, Dean, you’re my _son_!”

“And you're my father, but I’ve been getting off for two days with your fingers up my ass,” Dean countered, still finding the situation far more amusing than he probably should. “What’s the difference?”

“It’s not right,” John grated through clenched teeth.

Dean nearly laughed again, but he wasn’t sure his dad wouldn’t haul off and hit him if he did. “Seriously? After all the shit we’ve seen and done, _that’s_ what you’re going to lead with here?” When John only glared at him again, he shook his head slightly. “So …what? You’re not going to finish?”

“I can’t,” John growled.

“Because you had the same ‘physiological reaction’ you’ve been telling me is only natural? Was that just bullshit?”

“No, of course not,” John said gruffly.

“So it’s OK for me to feel like a fucking pervert for enjoying it, but the unflappable John Winchester gets a boner and it’s nothing short of repulsive?”

“I think it’s fairly fucking obvious that I’m not repulsed,” John snapped. 

Dean laughed again, he couldn’t help it. “Ok, fine, you want me to leave while you take care of that?”

“What?” John asked, horrified at the thought. “No, of course not!”

“Separate corners, then?” Dean asked with a smirk. “You take the sink, I’ll take the shower?”

John glared again. “I’m glad you find this so amusing.”

“I do,” Dean snickered, shaking his head. “I really do, but that’s beside the point. This,” he said, gesturing at his still hard cock, “isn’t going down anytime soon, so you can finish what you started, you can leave the room and let me handle it myself or you can stay and watch. Your call.” He smirked again at the look of uncharacteristic panic that flashed through John’s eyes.

“I, uh…” 

“I promise not to touch,” Dean teased. “Strictly clinical, just like before.”

The glare was back and Dean had to fight to keep an amused chuckle at bay.

“Fine, turn around,” John said, gathering what remained of his composure.

Dean did just that, hanging his head and gripping the edge of the sink so that he wouldn’t be tempted to touch himself. He could hear his father taking a deep breath behind him, and he knew he really should take pity on the poor guy. He’d had his share of inappropriate erections and he knew it didn’t mean anything. 

“You ready?” John asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

His voice was steady and no-nonsense once again and it reminded Dean of how lucky he was in some ways. “Yeah.”

John lubed his still gloved hand and gently pushed one finger inside. Pressing lightly on the prostate, he massaged it slowly for a couple of minutes before adding another finger. As he set up a steady rhythm of stroking and pressing, he could see Dean clenching his jaw in an effort not to let any sounds escape. “You’d better not be restraining yourself for my benefit,” he warned gruffly.

Dean barked a laugh that ended in a grunt as John pressed harder on his prostate. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” John said with a smirk. He continued the massage, increasing both pressure and pace as Dean’s breathing quickened. “That’s it.”

Dean had the sink in a death grip as the sensations built within him. He didn’t think it would take long but he also knew that John could keep him on the edge for as long as he wanted and he hoped he hadn’t earned himself some payback for his earlier teasing. “Dad,” he gasped.

“You’re doing good,” John soothed him, his free hand settling on the small of Dean’s back. “Just go with it.”

There was no way Dean could do anything else. He was riding the wave of increasing pleasure, trusting his dad not to leave him stranded on the precipice. When the feelings crested, he cried out, his whole body feeling like it was flying apart. “Please,” he breathed. “I can’t …”

“You’re OK,” John assured him. “Just a little more.” He used his thumb to press on Dean’s perineum at the same time his fingers applied just the right amount of pressure on his prostate.

“Shit!” Dean exclaimed as his cock began to erupt. He thought it was never going to stop, and he briefly wondered if it would literally explode, leaving him forever without his favorite method of both pleasure and stress relief. After what seemed like an eternity, the pulsing slowed and finally stopped.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

His dad’s arm was steadying him, supporting some of his weight, and he was grateful for it. He felt drained, but in a good way, like the pleasurably sated feeling one got after great sex. 

“You OK?” John asked, gently removing his fingers.

Dean nodded and took a moment to regulate his breathing. “Yeah,” he finally said. Looking up at their reflection in the mirror, he managed a weak smirk. “You?”

John scowled and slapped one ass cheek sharply.

“Ow!” Dean said in surprise as he turned around. One glance downward showed no sign of his dad’s earlier embarrassment and no wet spot to indicate what had happened to it. Cocking an eyebrow, he met his father’s gaze. “Should I be offended?”

If looks could kill, Dean was sure he would have dropped dead on the spot and it took some real effort on his part not to tempt fate by laughing.

“We don’t say a word about this to anyone, _ever_ , do I make myself clear?” John demanded gruffly.

“What happens in Ellicottville stays in Ellicottville?” Dean asked, unable to hide an amused smile.

John tried to maintain his no-nonsense expression but the corners of his lips twitched, giving him away. “Yeah, something like that.”

Dean shook his head. “Hey, I don’t want anybody knowing about _any_ of this, so your secret’s safe with me.”

John looked at him as though gauging the sincerity of those words. Satisfied by what he saw, he nodded. “Good. How are you feeling?”

Dean thought about that for a second. He was feeling somewhat lethargic, but in a good way. “Kinda hungry, actually. If you want to order that Chinese food you mentioned earlier, I’ll clean up in here and grab a quick shower.”

“Sounds good,” John said, turning to leave the room.

“And none of that vegetable crap that Sam likes!” Dean called after him.

John grinned. He was half tempted to order _all_ vegetable dishes even though he didn’t really like Sam’s favorites either. As he was looking up a menu on the laptop, he heard the shower start and a few minutes later, Dean was singing. He was better, and he’d continue to regain his sense of balance as things got back to normal. Or what passed as normal in their lives. Sending a thought of thanks to Caleb, John pulled out his phone to place the order. 

The End

This story now has a sequel: [Futuere Vel Mortem](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1576544/chapters/3347132)


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